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A Very Gaga New Year

January 23rd, 2012

It’s no secret that over the past few months recording artist Lady Gaga has visited my tiny town in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, on at least two occasions.

Gaga is known for her outlandish outfits. She once wore a dress made of meat. How do you accessorize an outfit like that? With shoes that are salt-and-pepper shakers? I don’t think that Claire’s carries tiny little meat cleaver earrings, but I could be wrong. I’m guessing that instead of Chanel No. 5, she puts a dab of A-1 behind each ear.

Right before Thanksgiving Lady Gaga was spotted at the meat counter in the local grocery store. Apparently she was shopping for a new dress.

Gaga doesn’t have hand-me-downs, she has leftovers.

Her closet must look like a smorgasbord.

Lady Gaga is also known for her excessively high heels. Her heels are so high she’s required to carry an escape ladder.

Her heels are so high that she needs clearance from the tower at airport just to go for a walk.

Recently, when the daughter of a friend complimented a woman on her chic shoes at the nearby mall, she was surprised to see that it was Gaga looking down from her stylish perch.

I caught a couple of minutes of Gaga’s Thanksgiving holiday special that aired on network TV. I almost didn’t recognize the singer because she was wearing such conservative attire.

And speaking of conservative, Gaga is dating Taylor Kinney, a graduate of Lancaster Mennonite High School. The two met while filming one of her music videos. I can only wonder what the dinner table conversation was like on Thanksgiving in his family’s home with Gaga as a guest. I’m guessing that “We’ve seen all of your music videos and just love your work” isn’t a sentence that was uttered that night.

Many in my town are having close encounters of the Gaga kind. I ran into her on the street in front of a cafe when she was first spotted here back in September. In November, she was in the grocery store when I was. I think she’s stalking me.

As a columnist, I get asked a lot for advice. In particular, folks want to know how they should act if they run into the singer in town. Since I am experienced, here’s what I tell them:

Should you encounter Gaga on the street, remain calm.

Raise your arms above your head and try to appear bigger.

Make loud, grunting noises. This may frighten her off, or you may get hired to appear in her next music video.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and part-time paparazzi. Her column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs, where it’s one of the top blogs on life and parenting. Email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, follow her on Twitter and fan her on Facebook. © 2012 Lynn Rebuck

Tags: humor, Lady Gaga, Lancaster, Lancaster Mennonite High School, Pennsylvania, Taylor Kinney
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Hooked on Electronics©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Holiday shopping can be challenging, but shopping for a cell phone is nearly impossible. A recent trip to a Verizon store went something like this:

“Can I do face-to-face chat on this phone?” I asked the salesman.

“You can’t Skype. But you can Oovoo, Fring, or Tango.”

Of all the salesmen swarming like vultures in the store, I had to get Mork from Ork.

It was apparent we didn’t even speak the same language. Then it dawned on me: he must be speaking in tongues. I glanced around the store to see if someone had received an interpretation.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done any of those things, at least not in public,” I said.

He then explained that those were the names of different apps that one could use to communicate face-to-face via a smart phone.

I pondered whether I really wanted to chat bad enough to learn an entire new language. Maybe I could just call people and get together with them instead. I don’t have a good history with electronics. I once made a Speak ‘n’ Spell cry.

While I don’t mind all the technological advances, I do resent having to learn new electronics vocabulary words. Someone should develop a set of flashing flashcards to enhance the learning process or offer a video course called “Hooked on Electronics.”

When it comes to TV, I don’t know whether to Hulu or Roku. Maybe I should TiVo. I could record the Broncos game and TiVo Tim Tebow.

When I heard that Best Buy was having a big plasma event I went right down because I thought I could donate blood. I don’t know my 720p from a 1080i. Is there a tutorial on how to use an online tutorial?

I felt confident that I could master the electronic language, it would just take time. After all, I had learned to speak Pong, Atari, and Nintendo. I was now Bluetooth-ready.

“By the way,” the clerk said, “this cell phone has a built in translator. It recognizes over ninety languages.”

Those words were like MP3 downloads to my iBuds.

“Does it speak electronics?” I asked, “Because I have more shopping to do. I’d like to become buy-lingual by lunchtime.”

“Well…”

“Will it translate what a teen is saying in unintelligible grunts that sound like a tribal tongue?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Is it fluent in Repairmanese? I have a guy scheduled to look at my dishwasher tomorrow.”

“Really, lady, I don’t know…”

“I tell you what,” I said, “if you throw in a Zweet, Wheeme, and a Zwark, we have a deal, Mork.”

“Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s time to sync up your lingo, sonny,” I said. “I’m sure there’s an app for that.”

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and comedian. Read more at www.LynnRebuck.com and email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com. Her column appears weekly in the print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. In her spare time she enjoys reading instruction manuals for electronics devices. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

The Twelve Days of Christmas Assembly©2011 Lynn Rebuck

The Twelve Days of Christmas Assembly

On the first day of Christmas my true love said to me

There are some presents that need assembly.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

2 end caps

And instructions in Chinese

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

3 wrenches

2 end caps

and said this will be easy

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

Insert part A into part B

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

And an extended warranty

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

6 bolts a-tightening

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

And there’s a part that is missing

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

7 screws a-turning

6 bolts a-tightening

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

This is a catastrophe!

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

8 tabs inserting

7 screws a-turning

6 bolts a-tightening

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

Why didn’t we pay for assembly?

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

9 parts attaching

8 tabs inserting

7 screws a-turning

6 bolts a-tightening

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

That’s not how it looked on TV

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

10 nails a-tapping

9 parts attaching

8 tabs inserting

7 screws a-turning

6 bolts a-tightening

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

What am I supposed to do with these?

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

11 fasteners fastening

10 nails a-tapping

9 parts attaching

8 tabs inserting

7 screws a-turning

6 bolts a-tightening

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

And the part that was missing

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,

12 decals attaching

11 fasteners fastening

10 nails a-tapping

9 sides attaching

8 tabs inserting

7 screws a-turning

6 bolts a-tightening

5 wooden dowels

4 short screws

3 wrenches

2 end caps

Please read instructions before assembly!

The Right to Assemble

Assembling toys is the nightmare before Christmas. Where’s an elf when you really need one? I am surrounded by parts, pieces, and instructions in several languages. I could care less about a jolly old guy in a red suit coming down the chimney. I’d like to have a handyman in overalls who speaks fluent instructionese show up at my door.

What’s so hard about turning a few pieces into a finished product? Well, let’s just say the cam bolts aren’t cooperating, the pre-drilled holes were not pre-drilled, and the instructions were translated into English by someone in a foreign country who has a sense of humor and a sadistic side. At times like this I do not enjoy my Constitutional right to assemble.

I got halfway through the project when I realized two of the parts were on backwards. This is not a good thing, especially if you are putting together a bike. This kind of creativity can get you in trouble on Christmas morning. So I not only enjoyed the experience of assembling the gift, but disassembling and reassembling it as well.

It has become my Christmas tradition in this column to parody a well-known Christmas song as my gift to you, my devoted readers. This year I put together some lyrics for you to sing as you attempt to assemble items over the next few days. See my next post for the lyrics and sing along! Merry Christmas!

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and holiday lyricist. Her column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. Email Lynn your favorite funny assembly story at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com. (c) 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Beck the Halls©2011 Lynn Rebuck

I like Christmas music, but starting in early November it’s omnipresent: it’s in every store, in every elevator, and on every station, including talk radio (I fully expected Glenn to release a “Beck the Halls” Christmas CD).

As I searched the mall for an omnipresent (that’s the one gift that I could purchase in bulk for everyone) recently, I heard blaring from the speaker systems of three different stores an unintended medley of clashing carols: “Silent Rudolph the Red-Nosed Manger.” It was more than my fried-by-“Feliz Navidad” brain could handle.

I sought sanctuary in a nearby synagogue to escape the cacophony of carols. I hummed “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel” to soothe and center myself. I don’t mind the holiday music, but it is so pervasive that it is affecting my every thought and intruding into all of my family’s conversations.

The other night I could have sworn that my daughter approached me and told me of her plans to go out with her adolescent friends by saying the phrase “We three teens of orient are….” Maybe I’m just hearing things.

“Do you hear what I hear?” inquired one of my children the night before Christmas.

“Is it the little drummer boy?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“You know,” I said, “I heard the bells on Christmas Day.”

“That’s nice, Mom.”

“Their old familiar carols play,” I continued, making conversation.

“Mom, you’d better lay off the eggnog.”

“Can I have a friend over?” my son continued, standing next to a kid I hadn’t noticed before.

“What child is this?”

“Chris.”

“Which one is he? The Drummer’s little boy?”

“Funny, Mom. He’s the Taylor’s kid.”

“Joy to the world,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“Is that a yes?”

“What’s that smell?” interrupted another child.

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” I mumbled. “Or it could be dinner.”

“Mom, can I go on a date with Paul?” asked my eldest.

“The little drummer boy?”

“He’s a percussionist in a rock band, Mom. And so what if he’s short, I just won’t wear heels.”

“When will you be back?”

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” she said.

I nodded and reached for more nog.

As she walked out the door, she called over her shoulder “You can count on me.”

“Did the box from Amazon arrive?” asked my son.

“Yes, it came upon a midnight clear.”

“I didn’t know UPS delivered that late.”

“’Tis the season, you know.”

You know, the three wise men were the first midnight madness shoppers, and they didn’t have any criss-crossing carols to contend with.

Crowd Control© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Last week I survived angry mobs, pepper spray, and political power struggles. And that was all during Thanksgiving at my house.

I didn’t have to occupy Wall Street or vie for early-morning Black Friday specials to narrowly miss getting hosed down (never trust a six-year old with a turkey baster) or trampled (avoid standing between a group of men and their seats in front of the first football game of the day).

Frankly, I am most thankful for the fact that I survived Thanksgiving. Next year, to make the day go smoother, I am inviting an official from the NFL to referee our dinner.

What we need at our annual gatherings is a guy with a black and white striped shirt and a whistle to keep the peace.

This year I witnessed multiple dining room offenses that would have warranted a flag down on the plate.

I’m positive that that as I was calling an audible over the meal (saying grace), there was some illegal motion in the backfield.

Before the blessing was over an infraction occurred at the line of scrimmage. A hand reached across to grab a roll resulting in an offside call. The offender was given a warning and a ten-yard penalty into the kitchen.

I could barely believe that in response to a simple request to “pass the gravy” several yellow flags could have been thrown down.

With the antique gravy boat poised in mid-air, I witnessed pass interference, roughing the passer, and a facemask infraction. Why one teen had to grab the other’s retainer head gear is beyond me.

When my adorable little niece in the high chair decided that she despised her food she intentionally grounded her strained turkey. Since she would still have to eat the festive fowl, she was informed she also faced a delay of game penalty. She then intentionally grounded her mashed potatoes and peas in protest.

Our halftime show is not nearly as entertaining as what the NFL offers. The musical selections are usually limited to a few eager, off-key not-so-sober soloists who relish a captive audience. They are followed by a male a capella group that favors us with a series of burps in various keys. Occasionally there is a wardrobe malfunction that most prefer to forget, since it usually involves an overweight uncle.

The highlight of my day is when the tryptophan in the turkey kicks in and they all fall fast asleep. It can’t happen soon enough with this group.

There is one annual violation for which I make no excuse: excessive celebration. At the end of the day I spiked the turkey carcass and wobbled my knees triumphantly, playing it up for the holiday crowd. I might even make Madden’s highlight reel this year.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and photojournalist whose column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. She once punted a roast turkey to avoid being tackled. Email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, follow her on Twitter and fan her on Facebook. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

A Hard Day’s Night©2011 Lynn Rebuck

When is the worst time to have insomnia? The night we switch from Daylight Savings Time. Yes, you guessed it. On the evening when we delight in the fact that we get an extra hour of sleep, I ended up instead with an extra hour of sleeplessness.

It was a hard day’s night.

Everyone experiences an occasional bout of insomnia. I just timed mine wrong and it coincided with the time change.

As I lay awake listening to others snore, I thought about sleep aids. I thought about waking the others to tell them about my insomnia. I wondered if I could list sleep deprivation as a hobby on Facebook.

Here are some of my favorite ways to fall asleep when I’m having trouble dozing off:

Listen to Enya’s music. I’m not sure what it is about this woman, but she makes me sleepy. I wonder if her New Age household is full of a drowsy spouse and lethargic children. Her CDs should have an advisory label on them: “Do not drive or operate heavy machinery while listening to this music.” Dosage: Start with one track. If still not sleepy after thirty minutes, listen to another track. Prolonged exposure may cause listlessness.

Watch C-SPAN. Nothing puts me to sleep faster than a hearty dose of televised hearings from the House floor. Listening to the steady drone of elected officials just lulls me to sleep. I’m pretty sure this is how most of the objectionable bills get passed by Congress. Just use caution that you don’t end up watching British Parliament by accident. Watching their energetic interaction with the Prime Minister on the question and answer sessions is the equivalent of drinking three cans of Red Bull.
Make a list of all the things you need to get done the following day, then hire an assistant to do them.

Here are a couple of interesting sleep-related facts. Reading helps you fall asleep. Men fall asleep faster than women. In fact, statistics show that at least four out of five men fell asleep while reading this column.

The week following the switch from Daylight Savings is the most dangerous week of the year for pedestrians. More pedestrians are hit by motor vehicles during this week than any other. So as you drive and walk around town, please be careful.

I managed to make it through the time change on the heels of arriving in a new time zone. I am already on the appropriate sleep-wake schedule for Malaysia. Unfortunately I am in the middle of the United States.

I have discovered that when it comes to the switch from Daylight Savings, people react in one of three different ways. There are those who set their clocks back Saturday night before they go to sleep, there are those who forget about the time change entirely and arrive everywhere an hour early the following day, and there are those die-hard time change fans who, like me, insist on staying awake until 2 a.m. Sunday morning to usher in the new hour. It’s kind of like New Year’s Eve without all the confetti.

How certain am I that my body will eventually adjust to time change? Well, let’s just say I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and Christian counselor whose column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle. She has six clocks and three watches, none of which are set to the correct time. Email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, fan her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Fall Back, Spring for Words©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Some people adjust quickly to the switch to Daylight Saving Time. It usually takes me six months . My body resists the sudden shift. The name even confuses me. How does daylight save time? Is it time for us to contribute to our savings? In other countries, they simply call it “Summer Time.” Go figure.

While most people are aware that the whole concept that daylight could be saved was invented by that irrepressible inventor, Benjamin Franklin, many are unaware that he conceived of the idea after pulling a candle-lit almost-all-nighter in France.

Mr. “a penny saved is a penny earned” Franklin finally crashed at 3 or 4 a.m. after being totally amazed by a new invention being demonstrated on QVC called the “oil lamp”. At 6 a.m. he was so startled by the sunlight streaming into his room that he reasoned, in the midst of his sleep deprivation, that a drop of wax saved is a drop of waxed earned.

Interestingly enough (or not, you decide), Franklin first proposed his radical idea in a letter to the editor. He reasoned that tons of wax and livre (which is books, money, or chopped liver according to my very vague French dictionary) could be saved if the Laissez-faire French would stop sleeping until noon.

He humorously suggested that a cannon be set off on the streets each morning to jolt people to wakefulness. Not a bad idea, especially for today’s hard-to-wake teens. He also suggested a financial penalty for homeowners whose residences had shutters to keep the sunlight out. Today that would be the equivalent of a Levelor levy.

But the time-change concept didn’t go straight from Franklin’s quill to instantaneous world-wide acceptance. People were amused but resistant. In 1907, William Willet, an English builder and the first one with a “Save the Daylight” bumper sticker, proposed the time change but with a more humane transition than the sudden one-hour shift: on each of four consecutive Sundays in April, at 2 a.m., set the clock forward a mere twenty minutes and back in like fashion in the fall.

He was ahead of his time. About twenty minutes ahead. The idea was mocked, dismissed, and eventually passed by legislators. Those time lobbyists were very persuasive.

People used to rely on local time from a town clock like we rely today on the time from our infallible computer screens (mine is still set on Pacific Time).

In the United States the entity that actually drove hardest for the standardization of time was the transportation industry. That was so that in the future airline passengers would eventually know just how late their flights were. To get from one location to another back then often required stopping at more locations with different times than flying on Southwest does today.

Times have certainly changed since Franklin and Willet. We now efficiently light our homes in the evenings with energy-saving 40-inch HD screens tuned to QVC, where tonight they are demonstrating lava lamps. I’ll probably be awake until 3 or 4 a.m.

Why Am I Antisocial Networking?

Lynn Rebuck

Many people are upset by the recent changes to Facebook. Not me. No, I’m more upset by something else on Facebook.

Recently one of my friends on Facebook announced that the next individual to “friend” him would become his 500th friend on the popular Internet social networking site. Since I am already his Facebook friend, I responded to his post by informing him I was going to defriend him. He replied that the correct term is “unfriend.” Whatever. I’m antisocial networking.

It is probably my competitive nature that caused me to threaten to virtually abandon him. We’ve always known that some of our friends are more socially connected. With Facebook, the popular people get to overtly brag about it, as the number of one’s friends is quantified for all of cyberspace to see.

I just recently passed the milestone of having one hundred purported friends on the site. Actually, most of them aren’t real people. I created their profiles myself. I have make-believe Facebook friends. It’s just easier that way.

You see, when I had real people as Facebook friends, I was overwhelmed with the volume of data that they were disseminating in my direction, from Farmville crops to Farkle scores. Some shared far too much information. I really don’t need to know which 1970s hairstyle my friends are most like.

Some of my three-dimensional friends have not become my virtual friends, since they are not yet on Facebook. But so many people have created profiles on the website it is now the premier online destination for social connectedness.

According to sales guru and author Jeffrey Gitomer, “Facebook is the third largest country in the world.” When I joined the site, I had no plans of emigrating. Perhaps the United Nations will give a seat to Facebook as long as it agrees not to friend China. I had no idea my password would become my passport to the online culture where you can instantaneously (and perhaps regrettably) share your impulsive likes, dislikes, rants, and faves with everyone within Facebook’s Boolean borders.

Like it or not, we must face the Facebook facts: the site is here to stay, as are other recent technological trends, like Twitter and text messaging. We can choose to bury our heads in the sand (I’m sure there’s a Facebook app for that), or we can reluctantly take part in it. It is our chance to be connected in a world that increasingly seems to lack true connection. Think of it as the ultimate linguistic challenge as you attempt to condense thoughts into witty, insightful 140-character tweets.

I attended a social function recently. I was frantically tweeting the happenings as they happened. My tablemates were tweeting that I was tweeting. We didn’t speak a word to each other all night, but we did accidentally text each other.

In addition to texting, cell phones have given rise to another phenomenon called “butt dialing.” This occurs when a phone placed in a rear pocket decides to call someone with the help of your gluteus maximus muscle. It calls the last person dialed. I refer to it as “call backwarding.”

Let me offer some advice, one virtual friend to another. Unless you want your Facebook friends to accidentally butt in on a cell phone conversation and overhear you talking about them, don’t keep your phone in your back pocket. After all, you need all the virtual friends you can get.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and counselor whose column appears weekly in print, online at www.LynnRebuck.com and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. Her goals are to have thousands of Facebook friends, high scores on Farkle, and to retire to Farmville. You can friend her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Moms & Dads, Start Your Engines!©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Each weekday afternoon, just prior to dismissal, the semi-circle driveway of my daughter’s school resembles the beginning of a great automobile race: The Elementary 500. Cars coast into starting positions, crowded bumper to bumper on the asphalt track of scholastic speedway. Some arrive as much as an hour early in an attempt to get the flagpole position. Eventually the bell rings, someone waves a green backpack, the engines rev, and the race begins!

Every morning when I arrive at the school it appears the race is already in progress. Cars whip into the lot, slow down momentarily to catapult children towards their classrooms, and re-enter the race. I’m convinced that I saw Jeff Gordon dropping off his daughter. He was the only one with a pit crew.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I needed to enroll at the famous Bondurant School of Race Car Driving just to keep up with the other drivers. I’m hoping that they offer practical classes for parents like “Weaving Between Cars, Vans, and Busses while giving a Bottle to a Baby in the Car Seat in the Back,” “How to Park in a Red Zone and Make It Appear You Are Still Moving,” and “Quadruple Parking: How, When, and Why.”

Maybe the school of driving has courses like “When Your Carpool Drives You Crazy,” or “Meditation near the Median: Dropping Your Stress While Picking Up Your Kids,” or “Yoga for Yugo Drivers.” After a few unsuccessful trips through the lot (it was about 33 laps before I could actually pick up my child), I got smart.

I borrowed a workman’s jumpsuit and my daughter’s bicycle helmet. In the style of all great racers, I put large stickers on the helmet and patches on the jumpsuit. Extra Strength Tylenol. Huggies Diapers. Kraft Miracle Whip. NASCAR had nothing over me, except for wealthy corporate sponsors paying a large fee for high-speed advertising, great publicity, and a huge, loyal following. Still, I decided I’d give it my best shot. Early the next morning I donned the jumpsuit and strapped on the helmet.

With paint still dripping down the sides of my minivan from the red number 7’s I painted on each door, I climbed in behind the wheel. I revved my engine and squealed the tires. Then I remembered to put the garage door up. As I drove I felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins. When we turned onto the street the school was on, I noticed fewer cars on the road.

As we were about to arrive, my daughter reached into her backpack then handed me a crumpled piece of pink paper with the school letterhead at the top. I glanced at it as I pulled into the deserted elementary driveway.

After a moment, I rolled down my window, unsnapped my helmet, and screamed at the eagle atop the empty flagpole, “What do you mean there’s no school today!” Only one question crossed my mind: How many more laps before summer vacation?

Mom’s Back to School Homework ©2011 Lynn Rebuck

I hate the first day of school. I always end up with more homework than the kids. There is always a sizeable stack of forms for me to review, complete, and sign. There used to be fewer, less complicated forms when children started back to school. Now I need a paralegal to help me.

First I encounter numerous classroom contracts which my son and I need to sign in triplicate. Some need to be notarized. We must stipulate to standards for classroom behavior, attendance, and homework completion. I am sending my son to school this year with counteroffers.

Next I must complete the registration card requiring emergency contact information. Designating someone to pick up your child when he or she becomes feverishly ill is always a tricky decision. It’s tough to get someone to commit for a second year of service once they’ve had to clean your child’s morning meal out of their minivan.

There is also the fairness and reciprocity rule to consider. If the individual you previously listed had to pick up your child multiple times, while her remarkably healthy children didn’t need you to come to the rescue the entire school year (they didn’t even have cavities), it would be inappropriate to ask her to commit to another year on-call.

Next in the stack is a media consent form that asks whether I authorize my son’s image to be photographed, his name to be published on the Internet or in the news media, and for him to be interviewed by Anderson Cooper. Hmmm, I’m going to have to consult my son’s talent agent and publicist before I respond to that one.

By the time I get to the “radiological emergency” card I am overwhelmed with anxiety and ready to home school him. Since we live within a ten mile radius of a nuclear power plant, I must decide whether to authorize school personnel to give him an emergency dose of potassium iodide in the event of a nuclear emergency.

A more ominous card has evolved from the emergency contact card: the “catastropic emergency” form. In the event of a total meltdown, no wait, that would fall under the nuclear emergency card…umm, in the event of a complete catastrophe, who do I want to pick up my child? My first choice would be the First Lady. Michelle Obama can pick him up with Air Force One. I hope she doesn’t mind. I’d be happy to reciprocate.

By the time I finished all of the forms I suffered from severe writer’s cramp, had multiple paper cuts, and my signature had degraded into a series of illegible curves and squiggles.

But if a school district photographer ever snaps a photo of my son as Michelle Obama rushes him onto Air Force One following a catastrophic “nucular” chain reaction right after school personnel administer iodide to him in the wake of an incident at a nuclear reactor, district officials need not worry. I signed the forms.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist, counselor, and speaker. She is currently looking for loopholes in the library book return policy. Fan her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and email her at Lynn@lynnrebuck.com. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Family-Friendly Vacations© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Planning a family vacation is no picnic.

I’ve spent hours searching for family-oriented beaches, family-friendly hotels, and family-friendly restaurants. Now all I need is the friendly family to go on the trip. Mine has been a little surly lately.

It may be the thought of leaving all the comforts of home that they constantly complain about to go on a sun-filled vacation of family togetherness that makes my kids all irritable, or it may be the fact that they need to pack a smaller version of their stuff to take along.

Since we do not own a Hummer stretch limousine, there are packing limitations. No longer will I mount a car-top carrier on the roof and leave a trail of clothing on the Interstate that we could follow home. I’m thinking of charging my kids each a $25 bag fee for suitcases.

I have tried to teach my kids how to pack a suitcase. I consulted family magazines, travel magazines, and websites galore in an effort to simplify the packing process. None of the tips, even from the travel experts, worked for us. So here is a list of packing and travel tips that I devised over the years. I hope they benefit you during your travel this summer.

Experts say that you should pack your suitcase and then remove half of the items. I suggest that you pack the kids into the car and then remove half of them from the car. The trip will be quieter and the car roomier.

Provide lots of games for children to play along the way, especially if you are traveling by plane. In the airport security line kids enjoying playing verbal games like “I See Something Metal,” and “Simon Says.” (Simon Says take off your shoes; Simon says hold your hands above your head; Simon says don’t make fun of mommy’s body scan.”)

Make frequent rest stops. It’s wise to find a suitable location for a break before you give your children any liquids. While Foudor’s has helpful guides to many countries and tourist attractions, they have yet to publish a parent’s guide to the best restrooms. What I’d like to see is a travel guide that features five-star ratings on washroom facilities.

Experts say that you should roll clothes before putting them in the suitcase to save space. I suggest folding your clothes into origami shapes. It makes the workday more interesting for TSA agents.

Allow room in your suitcase for souvenirs, like the gallon of aloe vera burn lotion, the plastic pitcher and booties from the ER visit, and the oversized stuffed animal that your child accidentally won at the theme park that cost you $200.

Remember, we’re making memories as we travel, and the places you visit will never be the same after you leave, so enjoy them and the time with your children. We have a family vacation tradition. No matter how many stars a hotel has when my family and I check in, it has one less when we leave.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist and speaker whose column appears weekly in the Record Express, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. Email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, read her blog at www.LynnRebuck.com, fan her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Save the Beaches©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Each year tons of sand disappears from American beaches. I’m pretty sure my family is responsible for removing most of it. I don’t know about you, but I’m always surprised there is still sand on the beach when we leave.

If you ask me, this family-made erosion is a serious problem that needs to be addressed. The mid-Atlantic coastline is eroding at the rate of one-half meter per year thanks to our kids not knowing how to shake out a beach towel. Am I the only one walking around with a “Save the Beaches” bumper sticker covering my bikini cellulite?

When we’re at the beach, we’re used to having sand everywhere—sand in your sandwich, sand in your sandals, sand in your thousand island dressing. Instead of topping your slice of Mack & Manco’s pizza with parmesan, you top it with the new cheese/sand blend, parmesand. It makes for a crunchy meal, but hey, it’s the shore after all. We just accept that it’s part of the vacation.

But you don’t want the beach to follow you home.

I knew we were in trouble when we stopped at the first rest area on the parkway. When my daughter opened the car door sand poured out of the backseat.

There was so much sand in the car I expected to see Brendan Fraser chasing mummies at any moment.

It turns out that we brought back enough sand to start our own beach.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the sand. And the beach without sand would just be a long wave pool. It wouldn’t be as fun. There’d be no sand castles, no place to bury siblings, and no place to search for buried treasure (I really did bury a chest for my kids to dig up one year, complete with treasure map).

When we got back home I found sand in things that never even got near the beach. How does this happen?

I donated a sand trap to the local golf course. I overfilled the litter box. And I still had sand left over. So I looked into other options.

I learned that there is a process that restores sand to eroded beaches called beach nourishment. According to the an online research database, in the year 2000, Ocean City, New Jersey placed 1,351,000 cubic yards of sand back onto beaches at significant expense to the Federal government. The price tag? $6,943,000.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? I know how I’m going to earn some extra money this summer. Maybe I’ll earn enough to buy a new swimsuit. One without sand in it, that is.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist and speaker whose column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. She is the proud owner of a collection of Ocean City beach tags. Read her blog at www.LynnRebuck.com her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, fan her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck.

The Wiz that Was©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Friday night I went to the movies to watch Harry Potter 7.2, the latest and final release in the box office film franchise that has magically been able to open the wallets of millions of muggles.

After feeling mugged by the teenage concessionaire at the local cinema, where I shelled out big bucks for a box of Reese’s peanut-flavored corn syrup pieces, a large cup of carbonated corn syrup, and $10 for a movie ticket, I went to find a seat. I had hoped to see the 3-D IMAX version of the film, but it was sold out. Left to choose between the regular 3-D and the 2-D version, I opted for the one that was going to be least realistic. This would, of course, enhance the fantasy element of the film.

I had no idea what evil lurked in the theater, and I’m not referring to He-Who’s-Name-Cannot-Be-Reprinted-without-Paying-Royalties.

In the restroom I discovered that an evil spell had been cast on everything mechanical. I waved my wet hands at the paper towel dispenser and nothing happened. Apparently I needed to wave a magic wand and repeat some Latin incantation like, “towelus producis,” which, oddly enough, worked when I waved my straw at the machine (the straw chooses the slurper, according to Potter’s mentors). The woman next to me encountered an uncooperative soap dispenser, which responded to a flick of my wrist and the directive, “soapus latheris slatheris,” which caused all of the dispensers to squirt in unison.

For those of you who did not make it to any dimension of theater yet to see the film, I’ll summarize it for you here (spoiler alert!). Luke, Leia, and Han Solo cannot return to Hogwarts because it has been taken over by the evil Darth Voldemort. Snape cut a deal with the creature whose nose job was done by the same doctor who did Michael Jackson’s plastic surgery so that the City in the Clouds would never come under Imperial Rule.

Unfortunately He-Whose-Name-Must-Not-Be-Mispronounced did not count on how surly a bunch of boarding school students become after seven and one-half films without a lot of speaking parts. The kids revolt against the evil lord and bravely fight to protect Potter, quidditch (which is a type of quiche made from squid), and to stop all those pesky owls from flying over the lunch tables.

In an epic battle that rivals a double trilogy and a half of Star Wars, the battle between the forces of good and evil culminates with a furious clash of light from dual-color dueling wands reminiscent of another film that did well at the box office, When Harry Met Sally. Obiwan/Gandalf/Dumbledore says off camera “Use the force, Luke,” and Princess Leia kisses Hagrid.

The scariest scene of the film came at the very end when the demented director shows us the effects of 19 years of married life on Harry Potter without He-Who-Kept-the-Young Wizard-In-Shape around.

It was shocking, but it would have been far scarier in 3-D.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist whose column appears weekly in the print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. She is currently writing the fourth book in a trilogy. Email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, read her blog on www.LynnRebuck.com, follow her on Twitter, and fan her on Facebook. ©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Driving Parents Crazy©2011 Lynn Rebuck

It is the time of year when many families head out on vacation. Some will bravely set out to drive to their destinations. It is with that in mind that I appeal to the big three automakers.

Detroit, we need change, and we need it now. Do you American auto manufacturers truly want to compete in today’s car market? Do you want to be solvent without begging for bailout money? Here’s the solution—make vehicles more parent-friendly.

So, GM, Chrysler, and Toyota (that is the third one, isn’t it?) here are my suggestions:

Forget about back-up cameras. What we need are backseat cameras to keep an eye on the kids. Parents are tired of craning their necks and threatening “Don’t make me come back there.” We’d like to be back there virtually all the time. Install some robotic arms for separating bickering children. You will, no doubt, garner the Motor Trend Car of the Year award for such design innovation.

Forget about a car that parallel parks itself. What we need is a car that drives carpools alone, that runs errands on its own, and that repairs itself.

Stop focusing on the smoothness of the ride and install shock absorbers in the back of each parent’s seat. These shocks should be strong enough that when kids kick the back of the seat, the parent should not even feel it.

OnStar is nice but we really need you to install a Super Nanny sound-alike into the GPS navigation to assist parents who are experiencing turn-by-turn aggravation.

Be less concerned about protecting us from engine whine and more concerned with protecting us from backseat whine. Perhaps installing Bose noise-cancelling headphones for the front seat passengers would help.

An age-old problem for parents that has never been addressed is the two-window-three-passenger backseat. To solve the seating dilemma so that each child gets a window, install a small sunroof directly over the middle seat.

While the pressure gauge on the dashboard that warns of a tire blowout is helpful, it may be more beneficial to install warning lights throughout the vehicle when a parent is about to blow.

After all, road rage was invented by a middle-class couple in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere, who were each in the middle of a mid-life crisis. They were in the middle of what was to be a relaxing family vacation. They were supposed to visit an endless series of breathtaking locations, only instead ended up visiting a series of restroom locations where they had to hold their breath. Their kids had driven them to the brink of a breakdown.

Let’s face it, vacationing is work. At some point during the vacation everyone fantasizes about being home or even at work, though few will admit it. I think Detroit holds the keys to changing family driving vacations for the better. Let’s hope they get in gear.

Lynn Rebuck is a national award-winning humor columnist whose column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. Visit her website, www.LynnRebuck.com, for more of her humor. She enjoys playing travel bingo while flying. Email her email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, fan her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter.© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Red, White, and True©2011 Lynn Rebuck

I like to dress in patriotic colors on the Fourth of July, but I may have overdone it a bit this year with my red, white, and blue attire. I had no idea how flaglike I appeared until I nearly got run up a flagpole, was saluted several times, and when I bent over to pick up a Frisbee at the park someone nearby asked a fellow picnicker, “Did a previous president pass away?”

My heart is in the right place. I am a deeply patriotic American, proudly patriotic Pennsylvanian (what’s not to love about the cradle of liberty, birthplace of independence, and home of the cheese steak), and I wear my country’s colors with pride. They just happen to be bright colors. If the Founding Fathers had gone with beige or mauve, I wouldn’t look quite so garish each year.

Thanks to the high heat on the holiday, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if some of the main characters in our nation’s history were making their bold moves on behalf of our freedom with the benefit of the technology of today.

Betsy Ross, who was making flags in competition with other revolutionary seamstresses, would probably take out ads on Facebook asking fans to vote for their favorite flag design.

Thomas Jefferson would likely have Twittered from inside Independence Hall: “Long day. These guys can’t agree on anything. More rewrites.”

No doubt Benjamin Franklin would sell stoves on Craigslist, peddle bifocals on eBay, and post daily to his “Poor Richard’s Blog.” Ben Franklin would be the darling of Twitter, with his pithy, wise, and humorous tweets of 140 characters or less.

Lititz, Pennsylvania has its own history within the history of the holiday. The Independence Day celebration in Lititz is apparently the longest-running continuous Fourth of July celebration in the country. I believe it was started in 1775, before Jefferson even jotted down his outline for the Declaration of Independence on the back of the Constitution in ink only visible to Nicolas Cage.

I celebrated the Fourth of July in Lititz, but I was taken by surprise when three Boy Scouts swept me off my feet and attempted to fold me up into a triangle at the end of the day. Next year I think I’ll wear khaki.

Lynn Rebuck is a nationally award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and patriot. Everything in her fridge is either red, white, or blue. Her blog appears in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle. Visit her website to email her, fan her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter.© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Longest Day© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

As I write this column it is Monday, June 21. According to a post on Facebook, which I confirmed in the finest journalistic fashion by consulting Wikipedia, it is the longest day of the year.

I beg to differ. The longest day of the year is the day after school lets out for summer vacation. It is amazing how much boredom kids can condense into one 24-hour period.

Technically, June 21 is known as the summer solstice, the day when there is the longest amount of daylight. It is the opposite of the December 21 winter solstice, the day when my kids have the most lights turned on throughout the house.

The day after school let out last week was indeed a long one. I had used up all the ideas I clipped from parenting magazines and squirreled away for months in anticipation of that fateful day, and it was only 10:30 in the morning. The dog ate the homemade purple play dough, there was glitter everywhere (I am sure I am the first woman to pay bills with sparkly checks), and the kids were using the craft sticks as tongue depressors (one had the other sign a HIPPA form before he could play).

I am convinced that summer is the longest season of the year. Either that or it just seems long. I should have planned ahead. I could have arranged for summer camps, missions trips, or retreats. For me, that is.

Experts say summers are difficult because kids lose their routine. They say that kids need a routine, that it provides them with stability. Actually, I think it’s we parents that need the kids to have the routine. It provides us with sanity.

We need a set time when we don’t have six little eyes following our every move, time when we’re not playing a daylong game of involuntary hide-and-seek, and time when we can be free to go where we need without excuse, explanation, or 30 sticky fingers grabbing stuff in every aisle.

Summer is a time when mothers venture out into the heat in a universal search for sanity, seeking solace, connection, and a place for kids to cool off. Luckily, such sanity can be found locally at community pools, the air-conditioned comfort of a “multi-storied” local library, and a nearby kid-friendly park.

I’ve decided I can’t stay cooped up in the house with the kids all summer. One of us is going to lose our sanity, and I’m pretty sure which one of us it’ll be. If we don’t get out soon, my new routine may include braiding rugs or weaving baskets in a low-stress environment.

It’s time to venture out and explore new frontiers. To boldly go where generations before have gone. Besides, the kids have figured out all of my good hiding places.

Lynn Rebuck writes a nationally award-winning humor column that appears weekly in print and on Amazon Kindle. You’ll be able to spot her at the local pool—she’s the one covered in glitter. You can fan Lynn on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, or email her at her website, www.LynnRebuck.com © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

The Bathing Suit Workout©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Memorial Day weekend marks the official opening of the summer swimming season, as most public pools choose the holiday weekend to open each year.
It also marks the beginning of swimsuit season, or as I refer to it, stretch mark season. It’s the time of the year when I reveal to the world the lines crisscrossing my body like lines of latitude and longitude. I am in the prime meridian of my life.
I pulled last year’s suit out of my drawer to discover an interesting phenomenon: spandex shrinks in cold winter weather, making it more difficult to don the suit than it was the last time I wore it. I have learned that the word “Speedo” does not refer to how fast a woman can put on a swimsuit.
I have been known to take up to a month to get into my bathing suit. I usually start after all danger of frost has passed. If I’m lucky, I am ready by Memorial Day weekend. This year I knew I was in trouble when the suit got as far as my calf before cutting off circulation.
Rather than waste the entire summer trying to get my suit on, I decided to buy a new one. I headed to Costco, which doesn’t seem to have a fitting room, where I found a one-piece suit that had crossed straps in the back. This is apparently a design flaw.
From the time that I got it home and tried it on, I discovered I had entered into a wrestling match. Within moments it had me in a headlock, with one strap wrapped around my windpipe and the other strap pinning my arm behind my back. I had no idea the WWF was making swimwear.
With the straps randomly crisscrossing and the suit spontaneously turning inside out, it took on a life of its own. I searched to see if it had an “off” button or an instruction manual. There should have been a strip of plastic across the entire suit that read “For your safety and protection, do not attempt to wear this suit if you are not double-jointed.”
As I tried to squeeze my body into it, what I wanted was a swimwear shoehorn. As it turned out, I needed a running start and a trampoline to get into my suit. Putting on a swimsuit should not require a spotter.
I used to be critical of women who wore skimpy string bikinis. Now I recognize them for the geniuses that they are. It is so much simpler to tie a string around your cellulite than to try to squeeze it into a swatch of fabric that resists the idea from the start.
Besides, one-piece suits are not, shall we say, relief-friendly. Once they become wet, they are even harder to get back on than before. If there was ever an article of clothing that needed a drop flap, it is the one-piece swimsuit.
In the process of putting on my bathing suit I burned 1800 calories. Once I got it on, I didn’t even need to go swimming. I already had a workout. I had read that swimming gold medalist Michael Phelps eats 12,000 calories per day. Now I understand why.
Lynn Rebuck writes an award-winning humor column that appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle. Email Lynn at www.LynnRebuck.com, and click to follow her on Facebook and Twitter. She’ll be struggling with her swimsuit in the restroom at the pool all summer. © 2010 Lynn Rebuck.

Mother, Stay Calm© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Mother’s Day is simply not long enough. Mardi Gras lasts for at least three days. The entire month of May is dedicated to hamburger. What are we mothers, chopped liver? Mothers deserve at least a fortnight celebration, however long that is.

Christopher Columbus gets a whole day devoted to him. All he did was discover the New World. He never had to tend to a colicky baby in the middle of the night. He never had to shop for a prom dress with an indecisive teen. And he never had to chaperone a field trip of unruly third graders. His overseas voyages pale in comparison to the experience I had leading my last motley crew. Try finding a new route to the bathroom every few minutes in a crowded theme park with a kid who “really has to go.”

Abe Lincoln gets a whole day. Well, four score and seven years ago (give or take a few scores) I brought forth on this continent three new babies, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that I do not treat any of them equally. What did Lincoln do to deserve an entire day? Oh sure, ending the Civil War was a big deal and preserving the unity of our country was important, but mothers end wars and preserve unity on a daily basis. We perform hostage negotiations, infiltrate dangerous territory (teen bedrooms, need I say more?) and we are diplomats in every sense of the word.

What mother hasn’t encountered a scene like this:

“Let go of your brother.”

“No. He started it.”

“Let go of him this instant.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing.”

“Why is his hair shorter on one side in the back?”

“No reason.”

“Did you cut his hair?”

“No, the scissors did.”

Or how about this typical scene between a teen and his mother:

“How long has this plate of food been under your bed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you think about throwing it away?

“I’m not done with it yet.”

“What do you mean you’re not done with it? I can’t even recognize what meal it was.”

“It’s a science project now. I’m getting extra credit for seeing how much mold and bacteria I can grow on it.”

“It looks like you have a matching set of petri dishes under here. Are those to boost your grade as well, Louis Pasteur?”

I believe that a holiday to honor mothers needs to be longer in duration for one simple reason: it is not easy for us to transition out of mothering mode. Motherhood is stressful, and we must be constantly vigilant. There has been an elevated threat level in my home since the day my first child was born. It takes mothers at least a day to start to let go of the constant responsibility of mothering. We are just starting to unwind when it abruptly ends. That’s why we need another day or two tagged onto the end of the festivities.

I began writing this column using speech-activated technology on my cell phone. I speak, and the word processor types what I said, or rather what it thinks I said. As I dictated the temporary title of the piece, “Mother’s Day Column,” the well-meaning application typed out “Mother Stay Calm.” It is a fitting headline and the theme of motherhood if ever there were one.

Mothers, stay calm. And have a Happy Mother’s Year.

Lynn Rebuck is a nationally award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and comedian. Her column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle Blogs. Follow her on Twitter, fan her on Facebook, and visit her website, www.LynnRebuck.com, where you can email her about your Mother’s Day experience. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Stuck on “The Middle”

In my blog last week I mentioned that for the week of
April 7-14 there was only one network sitcom that made the Parent Television Council’s list of best picks: ABC’s family comedy “The Middle.”

“The Middle” is a family comedy that has its finger on the
pulse of the throbbing vein in every parent’s forehead. Tackling subjects from a grade-schooler’s
discovery of the Internet (their youngest is a bibliophile who searched for a book
with unexpected consequences) to the dilemma of an underage daughter
sneaking into an R-rated film, “The Middle” does something that other sitcoms
do not: it shows the reality of raising kids without demeaning dialogue, sexual
scenes, or caustic cynicism.

When I watch the show, I don’t find myself envying the professional décor
or desiring the products placed strategically by sponsors. There is clutter, chaos, and a nuclear family trying to keep from imploding. It’s a lot like home, except there is brand-name product placement in my
kitchen for which I should be compensated. One of my favorite episodes was the
season one Valentine’s Day show. It was an entertaining true-to-life depiction
of the difficulties of celebrating a romantic holiday in the middle of the
challenges of parenting.

What is strikingly distinct about this sitcom is that it
portrays parents as partners in parenting despite differences and
disagreements. Patricia Heaton and Neil
Flynn play Frankie and Mike Heck, middle class parents of three children. Both
actors have had successful sitcom careers (on Everybody Loves Raymond and Scrubs,
respectively) yet each explores new territory with these characters. They
portray a truth, transparency, and unity rarely depicted on sitcoms. Unlike the family on the Cosby show, where
the father was a medical doctor and the family was affluent, the Heck family
struggles with issues to which a majority of Americans can currently
relate—financial struggles, budgeting woes, and job loss. And if that wasn’t enough to deal with, they
still have to raise three kids—Axl, Sue, and Brick— who each have their own issues.

The show, now in its second season, is a refreshing blend of
real-life fiascos, well-intentioned parents, and kids with three different
personalities amid the challenges of work,
technology, and peer pressure (for parents and teens). This is a show that families can watch
together. Parents can engage their children about the pressing topics depicted
like texting, inappropriate movie content, and bullying. “The Middle” is a win-win for families in a
television world where families are usually the biggest losers.

Another thing that distinguishes the show from the rest of
prime-time offerings is that the parents and kids are not the brunt of the
jokes; life is, with all its myriad complications and conflicts. In one episode
Frankie was torn between attending two simultaneous sporting events: a
cross-country meet (where her daughter got lost on the trail) and her son’s
football game, where she would have the rare opportunity to escort him onto the
field. Did she make it?

Spoiler alert: the episodes do not all end in the manner to
which sitcom viewers have become trained. In fact, it’s a lot like real life. As
we root the characters on to the finish, they often fail, fall short, or are disappointed
in ways to which we can all relate. The
message of the episodes, and of the series, is one of hope, encouragement, forgiveness,
perseverance, and family love. It’s a message worth hearing week after week as
we write our own sitcoms at home. As
parents, it’s nice to know we’re not the only ones struggling. ABC’s “The
Middle” reminds us that parenting is one Heck of a ride.

Lynn Rebuck is a
nationally award-winning humor columnist, former television producer, journalist, and speaker
who is passionate about helping parents navigate the issues of
media and technology. To contact Lynn about speaking to your group, email her at LynnRebuck@gmail.com. For more information about Lynn and to
read her blog, go to www.LynnRebuck.com . © 2011 Lynn Rebuck< ?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” />

Sad State of TV Sitcoms© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

This past Saturday I had the privilege of addressing a group of parents at a church about youth, media, and technology. As a former television producer, media researcher, and mother of three, it is a subject about which I am very passionate. Some would call me rabid. Those would be my children.

Not only did I address pressing issues about social media, cell phones, safeguarding families, and music (don’t even get me started on Lady Gaga), but I talked about television. Frankly, there are things that TV producers don’t want you to know.

Consider this statistic: according to a 2005 study, an overwhelming majority of television shows contain sexual references, and situation comedies appear at the top of the list with 87 percent containing sexual content. The sitcoms show scenes of sexual content at an average rate of almost 9 scenes per hour. That was six years ago; the trend has only worsened, IMHO (that’s text-speak for “In My Humble Opinion” for those parents who have yet to attend one of my seminars).

Clearly, what’s happening to sitcoms isn’t funny.

The terrain of television is vastly different than years ago. We have gone from one deserted island (Gilligan’s)to another (Lost). Ozzie and Harriet were replaced by Ozzie and Sharon. Television is now about “Leave it to Cleavage.” What would June and Ward think?

In all honesty maybe we should reframe how we look at the above statistic and at television in general. Perhaps researchers should state how many of the sex shows on television contain humorous references. It’s time we wake up to what is really happening right in front of us, in living color, and in many homes, on very large screens . Things that were considered pornographic not long ago make up the mainstay of broadcast television and commercials. The CBS eye is looking the other way and the NBC peacock is burying its head in the sand.

The Parent Television Council is an organization that cares about what kids are seeing on television. They evaluate shows for content including sex and violence. The PTC provides a color-coded, easy-to-read weekly guide to television shows that evaluates shows based on content. For the week of April 7-14, there was only one network sitcom that made their list of “best picks” for family viewing: ABC’s “The Middle.”

While the scarcity of family-friendly fare came as no surprise, the fact that there is only one network program deemed worthy of watching should be a point of shame for television producers and network executives.

I have been a fan of “The Middle” since last year, when it began its first season. The show airs on Wednesday evenings at 8 p.m. on ABC. It appeals to my warped sense of parental humor which you likely share if you enjoy reading my column. It’s real life, and it’s funny. Check it out and let me know what you think. I’ll share my thoughts on the show next week.

Lynn Rebuck is a nationally award-winning former television producer, journalist, and speaker who is passionate about helping parents navigate the issues of media and technology with their teens and tweens. To contact Lynn about speaking to your church or community group about these or other issues, email her at LynnRebuck@gmail.com. For more information about Lynn and to read her blog, go to www.LynnRebuck.com. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Slow News Day© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

As a journalist I have been both appalled and amused by the deterioration of network news broadcasts. I was raised in an era when network anchormen were among the most respected individuals in the nation.
Walter Cronkite was an icon, a trusted figure whose words had merit and whose reputation was respected. His nightly broadcast featured the news that the nation needed to know. With ever-increasing technological advances network news broadcasts have devolved into something barely recognizable as news programming. They have morphed into high-tech displays of infotainment, a “TMZ Nightly News” if you will.
News directors have replaced the reasonableness of a Harry Reasoner with the wizardry of Harry Potter. The news is now about eye-catching graphics, life-sized touch screens, and a panel of purported Dumbledores. Given the success of the Twilight books and movies, I imagine it is only a matter of time before a vampire anchors a news desk.
Not long ago I stared in startled disbelief at my television screen as NBC Nightly News anchor Brian Williams announced to the nation in a somber tone news not of a revolt or of a riot but of a corporate logo change by Starbucks. Perhaps he did this to prevent a revolt or riot. We would not want to awaken to a world where sleepy caffeine-deprived Starbuckians are unable to locate the chain on every corner.
I next witnessed CBS Evening News anchor Katie Couric (more…)

Pimp My Buggy ©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Though I am an experienced driver nothing prepared me for driving in Lancaster County or for parking in Lancaster County, for that matter. I do not like losing a battle for a parking space to a horse and buggy.

The Pennsylvania Driver’s Manual did not address issues that have become pressing to me as I drive the bucolic byways of Lancaster County, like exactly when and where am I supposed to pass a horse and buggy?

So, investigative humorist that I am, I did a little research.

First I consulted the PENNDOT website. I was disappointed to discover that this common mode of transportation in our state was not even mentioned in the driver’s manual or on the website.

I discovered on the Internet a Horse and Buggy Driver’s Manual published by Lancaster County. It was quite helpful and caused me ask questions that I had never considered before like: Why is this manual on the internet if the Amish do not use computers?

Does the famous gecko insure horses and buggies? Do buggy drivers need to carry proof of insurance?

If you get hit by a horse and/or buggy driver without insurance coverage, are they considered uninsured non-motorists?

How do car insurers handle horse and buggy claims? Is there replacement coverage, and do they provide a rental?

Can horsessue for medical injuries? Do they get whiplash? (more…)

Springing Forward ©2011 Lynn Rebuck

The switch to daylight savings time seems much harder this year. Each morning I’m not sure whether to spring forward or fall back to sleep.

My body keeps opting for the latter choice, which makes me late for everything.

I’m trying to comply with the time change. I’ve tried coffee. I’ve tried a cold shower. I’ve even tried drinking coffee in the shower.

I’ve tried setting multiple alarms only to discover that I apparently sleepwalk and turn off multiple alarms.

When I don’t get enough sleep my mind wanders easily and I start wondering about things I don’t normally think about.

I wonder if the woman who does the correct time recordings ever loses track of time.

I wonder if the people who make Timex watches have to set them all forward an hour every spring.

I wonder if the official NFL timekeeper is ever late for work.

A trust issue has developed between me and my body. Ever since the time change it feels I’ve been deceiving it.

As a graduate student in Marriage and Family Therapy I have learned about different therapeutic approaches to working with couples and families. One of my favorites is a method called Solution Focused Brief Therapy, a model that uses certain key questions. I decided to apply some of the questions to the time change issue.

“When did the problem start?”

“It started this past Sunday at 2 a.m.”

“What have you tried so far?”

“Coffee, cold showers, hot coffee in a cold shower.”

“How has it worked?”

“Was I on time for this appointment?”

“No.”

“There’s your answer.”

“If you woke up tomorrow morning and this was no longer a problem, how would you know it?”

“Yes, exactly. I’d know it.”

“Maybe I’m not being clear. If you woke up tomorrow morning and this was no longer a problem, how would you know it?”

“I’d wake up.”

“Yes, that’s right. If you woke up and it was no longer a problem, how would you know it?”

“That’s how. I’d wake up.”

“I see. What else have you tried?”

“We’ll, I (more…)

MRI Is Worth a 1,000 Words©2011 Lynn Rebuck

I had an MRI last week. MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging and is a diagnostic study ordered by physicians. It is a medical exam that performs two functions simultaneously. First, an MRI provides a detailed visual rendering of the body much like going through airport security only you have to take off much more than your shoes and you will not be rewarded with a bag of peanuts. Second, it informs the physician as to whether a patient is claustrophobic or not.
The patient is asked to recline on a narrow pad which slides into the imaging device, a machine featuring a metallic tube slightly larger than a human and which makes a loud, impatient tapping noise.
“Can they do this study with an open MRI?” I asked while the tech slid me headfirst into the machine.
“This machine is open at the other end,” he replied.
If I had eyes at the top of my head, that knowledge would have been helpful. I now know how a torpedo feels. It didn’t help to overhear the tech say I was then “locked and loaded.”
I believe there are few people who are comfortable inside of an MRI machine and most of them are shot out of cannons routinely. It dawned on me that the last time I was in a space so narrow I was being born.
The MRI uses large powerful magnets to alter the alignment of the nuclei in one’s body. I was hoping that by the time they were done rearranging my atoms I would come out looking like Angelina Jolie.
Once the patient is in place the (more…)

Big Budget Films ©2011 Lynn Rebuck

Blockbuster used to stick a label saying “Be kind, please rewind” on every tape they rented. The employees used to think I was very kind, as every tape I returned was in the desired condition. The truth of the matter is I never watched most of the movies I rented.
My rental habit started out simple enough with just one or two movies for the kids on weekends. What I discovered was that Disney videos were gateway movies.
Soon I was renting a stack of videos that I knew I wouldn’t watch just to keep up with the neighbors. Unfortunately there are due dates for rentals. I was renting and returning, unviewed, some of the best movies of our time: Titanic, Lost in Translation, and even Lord of the Rings: Return of the the King. Late fees became the bane of my existence. My expensive habit increased, yet I couldn’t stop renting movies. I started staying up late just to watch a bunch of movies before I returned them. The next morning I stumbled to the video store looking haggard from my binge-viewing.
I looked to Netflix for my next fix. Since Netflix allows you to keep movies for a long time without any rental fees, it seemed perfect. I once had a movie for over a year before I watched it. The sequel was already in theaters and I still hadn’t slit open the red envelope. I had (more…)

The Price of Rights©2011 Lynn Rebuck

President Obama released the 2011 federal budget this week. I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear the new budget figures they always make me feel better about my own personal spending.
The new budget calls for $ 3.73 trillion in spending during the coming fiscal year alone. That’s just slightly less than House Speaker John Boehner spends on tanning supplies. The tawny Speaker of the House is known for breaking into tears in public. When the budget was delivered President Obama started to cry.
One conservative online news source says that If Obama’s budget is implemented it is estimated that it will double the national debt to $ 26.3 trillion by 2021.
I won’t say the situation is bad but earlier in the day Treasury Secretary Timothy Giethner was seen standing outside the United Nations holding a placard that said “Brother, can you spare a trillion?” Rumor has it that he recently tried to get a home equity loan on the White House.
When Obama campaigned for the presidency he promised change. He didn’t make it clear that’s what he’d expect us to live on.
The 2011 federal budget is document is thousands of pages long and it cost a lot of money to print. Obama proposed that in order to reduce spending we should eliminate the budget. Instead of printing it he proposed just tweeting the highlights.
Obama unveiled his budget Monday at a middle school in Baltimore. When the students saw the size of the budget book they panicked. They thought they were going to have to carry it home in their backpacks.
The proposed budget reduces spending for the arts. Apparently the President thinks there’s already enough drama on Capitol Hill. Republicans have their own ideas about what to trim from the budget. They want to eliminate all health care for Democrats. And if that isn’t enough, they suggested eliminating all Democrats from the government.
How about that ticket fiasco at the Super Bowl? Over two thousand fans were reportedly denied access to their seats because they were unsafe. If you ask me, those seats should have been reserved for Toyota executives.
When Democratic members of Congress heard on the news Sunday that many people were losing their seats they panicked and contacted their campaign directors. The NFL is trying to make things right with the ticketholders. They’ve reportedly offered them triple the price of their ticket, guaranteed seats for next year’s Super Bowl, and singing lessons from Christina Aguilera.
Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning humor columnist whose column appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle. Her 2011 proposed budget for the upcoming fiscal year includes appropriations for the arts, humanities, and tickets to the 2012 Super Bowl to watch her favorite team compete. Email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, follow her on Twitter and fan her on Facebook. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

If I had known how much ice we were going to get this winter I would have invested in skates, a spandex outfit, and training from Scott Hamilton.

My goal after the first round of the slippery storm last week was to make it down my icy driveway without doing a triple Lutz. Not only did I manage to slide the garbage can to the curb but I executed a double toe loop and a triple sow-cow in the process. My unplanned performance was rated a 9.8 by the neighbors.

When I woke up the next morning following round two of freezing precipitation I couldn’t believe what I saw. There was so much ice I wanted to carpool with a Zamboni driver. Incidentally, I was wondering if the guy who drives the Zamboni for the Flyers hockey team still has to drive to work on days like that. Forget about a 200-mph Maserati; I would have settled in a heartbeat for a 2-mph overgrown snow cone machine for my morning commute.

Since when it rains hard it is said that it is “raining cats and dogs,” does that mean last week it was raining frozen “pupsicles?”

I was thinking about (more…)

All of the major news outlets have been waiting for the top three world leaders to weigh in on the attempt to ouster the Egyptian president: President Obama, British Prime Minister David Cameron, and blogger Arianna Huffington.

The US hasn’t officially recommended that Mubarak leave Egypt, but he’s the first head of state that they’ve placed on the “Must-Fly” list.

Mubarak is eighty-two years old. Whenever he comes to the United States for a visit John McCain likes to stand next to him to look younger. Sen. McCain said that in this situation the U.S. needs to “be on the right side of history.” McCain should know history…he’s been around for most of it. And he’s usually on the right.

Vice President Joe Biden seemed a bit uninformed about the uprising in Egypt. When they asked him what he thought of Hosni Mubarak, Biden said he’s one of his favorite Steeler’s players.

Mubarak was vice president before he became president in 1981, and he’s been president for thirty years. Joe Biden idolizes the guy. He just put up a poster of Hosni over his bed.

Elections have been held every ten years in Egypt since Mubarak took office but by law no other candidates were ever allowed to appear on the ballot in opposition to him. Obama’s trying to see if he can get the same deal here for the 2012 election.

Apparently the uprising in Egypt was facilitated by the use of social media like Facebook and Twitter. What most people don’t know is that protests started after Mubarak posted a YouTube video of himself doing a Jedi light saber routine in his garage.

In an effort to quell the uprising, the Egyptian government has reportedly blocked the use of Facebook and Twitter. As a result the country now has a more urgent crisis—74 million Farkle addicts in withdrawal.

After days of protests Mubarak made concessions to try to appease protestors. He added a vice president, a prime minister, and Paula Abdul.

Despite worldwide pressure Mubarak has yet to leave the country. Apparently he still has time left on his cell phone contract. You know how those two-year plans are. And he’s been busy defriending 74 million people on Facebook.

Hillary Clinton was (more…)

Most of you are familiar with brain freeze, the painful phenomenon that occurs from eating or drinking something cold. This rapid-onset headache is given the scientific name sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia, which ironically is the name of my son’s favorite rock band.

Last week I brought a handful of snowflakes in for my cat, Halo Kitty. It was essentially a flavorless snowcone (unless you consider that fluorocarbons are flavorful). She ate it too quickly and got brain freeze. She went around shaking her head just like people do leaving 7-11 with a Slurpee or a losing lottery ticket.

It is so cold that…

This winter I realized that whether we like something can be so situational, especially the weather. Here are some things I’ve noticed:

Ice is better floating in a drink than coating the car.

Snow is better on a ski slope than on a sloped driveway.

Salt is better around the rim of a glass than around my wheel rims.

I’d rather be eating salt than spreading it everywhere just so I can walk without accidentally doing a triple Lutz. I’ve been spreading so much salt lately I’m beginning to look like the girl on the label of the Morton Salt container (better I look like her than the girl on the Coppertone bottle).

It is so cold that…

This winter I experienced a (more…)

It is only two weeks into the New Year and I’ve already broken my most important resolution. This year I resolved to break all of my resolutions by the end of the first week to overcome the suspense. I missed the deadline. Luckily that wasn’t my only resolution.

I’ve also resolved to memorize one Bible verse a year.

I’ve resolved to return a rental DVD no later than the year that I rented it.

And I’ve resolved to lose five pounds. I’m talking about British pounds, of course. One London-bought lotto ticket should do it.

Many people make New Year’s resolutions involving weight loss. It’s a touchy subject with me. I have tried to get into the space program just to experience weightlessness so I could brag to my friends. I would love to report my weekly weigh-in while in orbit.

To me the most challenging part of a doctor’s visit is not attempting to remember the name of a medication from among a myriad of homonymic pharmaceutical compounds (Ms. Rebuck, we’re fairly certain you’re not taking Frontline) or providing my less-than-flattering driver’s license photo as verification of identity (I usually advise the receptionist that if I ever look like the photo when I arrive for an appointment, admit me to the nearest hospital immediately). For me, the most difficult thing about a doctor’s visit is the weigh-in.

I believe the traditional pre-visit medical weigh-in is an affront to women. If doctors want us to feel better they should stop reminding us of our age and stop announcing our weight every time we come in for a visit. If I starting shouting out every guest’s weight in my home I would entertain far fewer guests. Let’s face it, when the nurse is taking our stats we are more concerned with our weight than the thermometer reading.

I am a woman who (more…)

Thanks to those of you who expressed concern at the absence of my column last week via your new iPads, Kindles, and smart phones. Were you sincerely worried or were you just showing off your new electronic devices? If you just received one of these gadgets, you are not alone. It is estimated that hundreds of thousands of people received these gifts over the holiday. So far three of you have read the instructions.

While various rumors have been flying about the Internet and on TMZ, it is not true that I underwent plastic surgery (although it was on my Amazon wish list), interviewed for Larry King’s job (I can’t pull off the suspender look), or was adopted by Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt (that arrangement would definitely raise some Oedipal issues).

While I’d like to report that I was off on some lush tropical isle writing my next book about finding myself after my divorce (Eat, Bug Spray, Love) or that a really handsome TSA agent patted me down and asked me out on a date en route to some warm destination that doesn’t have the words “wind chill factor” in the nightly weathercast, it simply wouldn’t be true.

I merely forgot what day it was and neglected to turn in my column. It happened due to the holiday and the disruption to my normal routine (arise, make coffee, try think of something funny to say, play Farkle on Facebook instead). I’m pretty sure something similar has happened to you.

You see, on Friday I (more…)

In light of the bitterly cold winter weather this year I have updated the classic holiday song “The Twelve Days of Christmas” with the wind chill factor in mind for this, my annual Christmas column.

On the first day of Christmas,

my true love sent to me

A Penn State fleece Snuggie.

On the second day of Christmas,

my true love sent to me

Two pair of gloves,

and a Penn State fleece Snuggie.

On the third day of Christmas,

my true love sent to me

Three Steelers (Eagles) hats,

Two pair of gloves,

and a Penn State fleece Snuggie.

On the fourth day of Christmas,

my true love sent to me

Four flannel shirts,

Three team hats,

Two pair of gloves,

and a Penn State fleece Snuggie.

On the fifth day of Christmas,

my true love sent to me (more…)

On the verge of a holiday spending spree and under deadline pressure (unfinished Christmas shopping, or to be completely honest, unstarted Christmas shopping), I write my annual Christmas shopping advice column.

Since I am a procrastinator, each year I will be surrounded by men who are shopping for their wives at a mall on Christmas Eve. Except for employees, I will be the only woman in the store, and I will be asked numerous times for advice by these men.
My hope is that men will read this column before they go shopping, saving me time and saving them embarrassment on Christmas morning. So here’s my advice for last-minute male shoppers:
1. No matter how supportive your wife is of your fishing or hunting hobby, she does not want an electronic fish that sings or a moose that dances.
2. Do not purchase season tickets to your favorite sports team “for her.”
3. Blenders are not sexy. Unless she has given you specific written directions to purchase an appliance for her, stay out of the kitchen department.
4. Jewelry is a wonderful gift, but selecting it can be sometimes confusing. There are numerous metals and stones to choose from, as well as different settings, cuts, and clasps. When in doubt, buy her the more expensive piece (ladies you can thank me later).
5. Do not buy her pierced earrings unless her ears are pierced. If you have been married longer than two minutes, you should know this about her.
6. The item you selected is indicative of how much you know and care about her. If you don’t know what size clothing your wife wears, don’t guess. Buy her jewelry instead.
7. No matter how tempting a sale may seem, do not buy a woman shoes.
8. Women seldom like practical gifts.
9. Do not, under any circumstances, buy a storm door for her, no matter how long she’s been asking for one.
10. Fancy wrapping cannot cover an insincere gift (I think I read that in a fortune cookie).
11. If the ink is still wet when she reads your Christmas card, you will be penalized. Do not misspell her name.
12. Remember, before wrapping a gift remove the price tag. A woman will not be impressed when handed an item that has been marked down several times over. Don’t tell her how much money you saved on her present.

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning humor columnist, speaker, and comedian. Check out her humor video “Two Nights Before Christmas,” a updated version of the classic poem told from a woman’s point of view on her website, www.LynnRebuck.com. Email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com. © 2010 Lynn Rebuck

I have been molting all winter.

For months now people have been treating me like a Perdue chicken by plucking feathers off of me wherever I go. It’s the fault of my leaky down-filled coat. I don my down in mid-September, and remove it in early June. This winter, though, the down is trying to make an early escape.

Apparently there is a technique to prevent the sneaky feathers from abandoning the coat. My friends told me to put the coat in the dryer with three tennis balls. They never told me to first take the balls out of the can.

The feathers have caused me some embarrassment. Like when I spoke before a group of Christian writers. Afterward I learned that a large feather had been protruding from a prominent place on my chest the entire time. I had checked my hair and lipstick in the mirror prior to speaking; I had failed to thoroughly preen myself.

At church on Sunday I removed my coat only to find I had spontaneously sprouted wings. I was quickly recruited to portray an angel in the next dramatic presentation.

In the Bible it is promised in Isaiah 40 that, “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.” I just never expected it to happen so suddenly.

Monday I went grocery shopping. I took off my coat and placed it in the cart only to discover that (more…)

Thanksgiving went very well thanks to my vigilance. I made sure Tom Turkey received a full body scan at the grocery checkout, patted him down at home, and did a cavity search to make sure he wasn’t concealing any C-4 explosives. I discovered only a slimy gizzard, a displaced liver, and a scrawny neck. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. It’s possible that the “free range” where Tom Turkey came from may have been a terrorist training camp.
         I’m fairly certain that had Chevy Chase been as thorough in screening his poultry the turkey would not have exploded like it did in “Christmas Vacation.” One cannot be too cautious these days.
         I decided that since the Department of Homeland Security encourages each citizen to be vigilant, I would make my home more secure by imposing the TSA travel standards to my holiday gathering.
         Each of the guests at my Thanksgiving potluck dinner was allowed to bring 3.4 ounces of gravy in a sealed container placed in a quart-sized plastic bag. They had to discard the canned cranberries before entering the house due to the prohibition on flammable gels. Since the hand-carried yams resembled grenades, they were x-rayed and later detonated in the microwave.
         Guests in my home for the holidays were restricted to one carry-in bag that could be stowed under their seat at the table. Bags were searched thoroughly in a conspicuous place and there was an extra charge for each additional bag brought into the home.
         Guests had to remove their shoes, belts, and jackets before passing through my Costco metal detector. No one was “gellin’” in my home over the holiday, as gel shoe inserts are strictly prohibited.
         Due to security restrictions, the family all had to

(more…)

A lot of people are up in arms about the new TSA airport security screening procedures, including me. When I lifted my hands above my head to enter the scanning device my upper arm flab declared a jihad. I almost accidentally decked a TSA agent.

It seems that the most of those flying on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving opted out of Opt-Out Day, the day designated for a protest of new invasive screening policies. Travelers had been encouraged to avoid the revealing full body scans and to instead subject themselves to time-consuming pat downs.

The vast majority of passengers who traveled didn’t want to risk the chance of missing a turkey dinner by ticking off an agent and opted out of having someone pat down their giblets.

What passengers are failing to realize is that the new airport security screenings are actually part of Obama’s healthcare plan. That’s right. On Wednesday over 1.6 million traveling Americans were the beneficiaries of a trendsetting new combined health/security screening.

The mainstream media is too busy reporting on the few who object to the screenings and is missing the larger story (more…)

Recently I registered at an online singles website. I’m not sure why I haven’t been asked out on a date yet through the site, but it might have something to do with my answers to the profile questions.
         “What type of relationship you are looking for? What individual qualities do you seek? I’m seeking a man who is single, who has a pulse, and who doesn’t snore. If you have ever been featured on an episode of “Maury” or “Dog the Bounty Hunter” please go on to the next profile.
         “Describe yourself and your character traits. (Are you funny, laid back, serious, open, shy?)” I am a funny, laid back, serious, open, shy woman who is a character.
         “What do you think would be the perfect setting for a first meeting?” At Pep Boys, or maybe the waiting room of a dentist’s office.
         “What are your favorite activities?” Filling out questionnaires on dating websites. Not.
         “Describe your current occupation. Do you like what you do? What is your dream job?” I enjoy what I do, but haven’t quite figured out what that is. It’s not in my job description to figure it out. My dream job is to write questions for singles websites.
         “Where did you go to school? What did you study? Did you like it? Would you like to continue?” I went to school in classrooms. I studied books (occasionally). Yes, I liked it. In fact, I liked it so much I’m still going to school.
         “What are some of your goals in life?” I’d like to finish this questionnaire.
         “How did your last relationship end?” I can’t divulge how it ended because (more…)

One of my friends posted a query on Facebook this past Saturday night just a few hours before we turned the clocks back for Daylight Savings Time: “What will you do with your extra hour?” I hadn’t really thought about it. Initially I figured that since the time change officially occurs at 2 a.m. Sunday I would do what I traditionally do: sleep. But then I started to think more creatively. Who doesn’t want more time in their day? An extra hour is a gift.

I could get ahead by writing a column, begin one of the dozen or so papers and projects that are due before the end of the semester, or maybe even pluck my eyebrows. Better yet, I could read a book that hasn’t been assigned to me, peruse a glamour magazine sure to cause my self esteem to plummet, or give the dog a luxurious bubble bath.

Since the time change occurs at such an odd hour (okay, technically it’s an even numbered hour that becomes an odd hour), television news anchors insist that we set our clocks back before going to bed. I decided I would start adjusting the clocks in the kitchen while I continued to ponder how I would spend my extra hour.

First I started pushing buttons on the microwave. Next I changed the time on the stove, then the coffee maker, then the bread maker. I almost forgot to adjust the kitchen clock, probably because it was the only timepiece not blinking at me. From there I went to the living room, where I had to adjust the television, the VCR and the DVD player. I had a hard time convincing the VCR to change and the DVD player was openly defiant. I tried to not take the opinion of the cuckoo clock personally.

Then I (more…)

I’ve finally given in and purchased a Kindle. What is a Kindle, you ask? According to the Amazon.com website, the Kindle is their revolutionary wireless reading device. One can purchase and download books onto the Kindle, and it has been the company’s top-selling item for the past two years.
I have made fun of the Kindle in the past. I already own many wireless reading devices. They are called books. They are portable, do not need Wi-Fi access, and have real pages to turn. I resist technology at every turn. Just ask my GPS.
When I was shopping the Amazon website for my textbooks for the second year of graduate school, I discovered that (more…)

In the old days, we used to pay kids to mow the lawn or shovel snow. Now I pay them to help me with my electronics.
         “Can you help me program my remote?” I asked a kid on my street one day. “I’ve been watching the same channel for a year. I hear from the neighbors that we actually get several hundred of them. And while you’re here, can you adjust the time on my digital watch and open some childproof lids for me?”
         Kids used to set up lemonade stands to make money during the summer. Now they’re setting up neighborhood computer help desks and making a killing. We technologically-challenged baby boomers have come crawling on our knees to the rising generation, or as I like to call them, God’s newest release.
         When it comes to electronics, if you want it done right, ask a teenager. I have seen them navigate menus, scroll through screens, and deftly touch, point, and click with the precision of a skilled surgeon.
        I, on the other hand, can barely manage to make a call on my cell phone. When others ask me what features my phone has, I tell them (more…)

Antisocial Networking

Lynn Rebuck

According to sales guru and author Jeffrey Gitomer, “Facebook is (more…)

     Last week a 13-year old girl won $50,000 in a national texting championship in New York City. To win the top prize she tapped out a verse of “Old MacDonald” on her cell phone in only sixty seconds besting several other teen girls in the competition. I’m guessing that the next thing she did was text her friends to tell them she won. How difficult is it to type “E-I-E-I-O” over and over? Thanks to having keys tinier than Tic Tacs on my cell phone I unintentionally tap out those lyrics every time I send a text message.
          Like it or not, texting is increasingly becoming the preferred method of communication for teens. We parents were encouraged as youth to let our fingers do the walking. With an estimated 20,000 text messages being sent per second by kids under age 18, our offspring’s fingers are clearly doing the talking.
          I have a phone with a QWERTY keyboard, which is the traditional set-up with individual keys positioned as they are on a computer keyboard. It helps somewhat. I think I am the only person that texts with a lisp. I still make lots of mistexts.
          Since text messaging condenses words, omits most vowels, and uses unique shorthand, it can be difficult to decipher. What we need is a Rosetta stone for text messages. For instance, see if you can figure out this well-known message:“4 scr & 7 yrs a/g, r dads brot 4th on dis cntnt nu ntn.” Do you recognize it as

(more…)

As a mom, I always dread the ton of homework that I get assigned on the first day of school. There is always a sizeable stack of forms for me to review, complete, and sign. There used to be fewer, less complicated forms when kids started back to school. Now I need a paralegal to help me fill them all out.

Next I must complete the (more…)

Take My Zucchini, Please!(c)2010 Lynn Rebuck

A SPECIAL RECIPE IS AT THE END OF THIS COLUMN!
It’s that time of the summer when I don’t know what to do with all of the zucchini growing in my garden. We cannot eat it as fast as it grows. It seems like the two innocent plants I bought at a local greenhouse and planted in my yard went from zero to zucchini overnight. And it’s not only that these plants are prolific.
If you turn away for a second, (more…)

If you’ve watched any of the World Cup soccer matches over the past few weeks, you are no doubt aware of the sound of the vuvuzela, a loud, droning South African horn played simultaneously by thousands of fans to the dismay of millions of worldwide television viewers who simultaneously search for the mute button on the remote.
It’s the first time that a sporting event has been known to cause side effects. Caution: Watching World Cup soccer may cause ringing in the ears. The good news is that (more…)

As I write this column it is Monday, June 21. According to a post on Facebook, which I confirmed in the finest journalistic fashion by consulting Wikipedia, it is the longest day of the year.

I beg to differ. The longest day of the year is the day after school lets out for summer vacation. It is amazing how much boredom kids can condense into one 24-hour period.

The day after school let out last week was indeed a long one. (more…)

The first episode of “Lost” that I watched was, ironically, the last episode. I admit that I am a bit behind on my serial television viewing. Frankly, I still don’t know who shot J.R.
          I’m not keen on making long-term commitments right now (I can’t even agree to making a 3-minute egg) so I avoid watching shows that will likely suck me into their weekly time-slotted world. When I learned that “Lost” was coming to an end, I figured it was safe to watch the final episode.
          I am not sure how the whole “Lost” phenomenon escaped me, but in a way, I’m glad it did. After the series ended Sunday night with a 2 ½ hour finale seen by an estimated 13.5 million viewers, my friends who were avid fans began posting comments on Facebook suggesting they might actually regret sacrificing six years of their lives only to be stranded, in the end, by the show’s producers.
          Apparently the final episode left behind many unanswered questions.

(more…)

Neil Armstrong isn’t happy.

You may remember Armstrong as the first astronaut to land on the moon, not to be confused with Buzz Aldrin, the first astronaut to land on “Dancing with the Stars.”

Armstrong is reportedly unhappy with President Obama’s flight plan for NASA, our national body that administers the exploration of heavenly bodies.

Last week, while many of us were sending off checks with our IRS 1040 Forms to fund government exploration of space, President Obama held a press conference at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida regarding the future of the space program.

In an open letter reportedly obtained by major news outlets and signed by Armstrong and two other Apollo astronauts, James Lovell and Gene Cernan, Obama’s plan is (more…)

I have long admired the Amish. Recently, I learned yet one more reason to respect them: some pay no mind to Daylight Saving Time.

A friend who used to drive for the Amish (a car, not a team of mules) told me that when arranging pickup times, the Amish would inquire whether the pickup time she stated was “fast time” or “slow time.”

Fast time is how the Amish refer to our odd practice of changing the time arbitrarily based on the calendar and someone’s bright (no pun intended) idea.

Clearly, “Fast Times at Amish High” has a whole different meaning than at Ridgemont High.

It seems that the cows belonging to the Amish (more…)

Anyone who has raised teens or been around a teen for more than a few minutes knows this universal truth—teens truly speak a different language. And today it’s harder than ever to get their attention.

How do you communicate with a kid who is simultaneously text messaging on a cellphone, playing Guitar Hero, and battling on World of Warcraft?

Teens today are (more…)

Last week in my column I challenged Discovery Channel’s “Dirty Jobs” host Mike Rowe to tackle the dirty job of being a mother (see “Dirty Jobs, Ha!” below). I haven’t heard back from him yet, but I have been checking out some of his episode descriptions on the “Dirty Jobs” Discovery Channel website and let me tell you, so far I’m not impressed. His jobs don’t seem all that tough, or dirty.

For instance: “Mike ventures out to discover what it takes to breed and train sled dogs at the Happy Trails Kennels in Big Lake, Alaska.” Wow, Mike, “ruff” job? Try this.
“Lynn tries to potty-train a puppy and a toddler at the same time, only to discover she set the child out front and re-Pampered the puppy.”
Or consider another (more…)

I don’t know what the big deal is about Mike Rowe, the host of The Discovery Channel’s show “Dirty Jobs.” A man goes around doing disgusting jobs and they give him and Emmy nomination. A woman does the same and she’s lucky if she gets a Mother’s Day card.

Let’s face it, for years we women have been doing unthinkable and thankless jobs without any fan mail and without the backing of a big-time budget of a cable TV show. On his website, Rowe solicits suggestions for dirty jobs that he can undertake on camera. Mike, here’s my suggestion: try being a mother.

Mothers learn early that (more…)

Olympians Go for the Goldenrod?

Of all the Olympic traditions, one is most puzzling to me.

Why, when male Olympic champions stand in the spotlight of the world and bask in their accomplishment, do officials hand them a bouquet of flowers?

I know of no other tradition where a man is handed a congratulatory floral arrangement to hold while the world watches. . (more…)

Many women have cute mottoes hung in their kitchen, like “Kiss the Cook” and “Country Cookin.’”

One typical evening, while attempting to cook dinner, I accidentally ignited the oil in the deep fat fryer, grated my knuckles into the carrot salad, and melted part of my thumb onto the 450-degree baking dish. With both hands bandaged, I scrawled a message in crayon on a grocery receipt and tacked it up over my stove. It has become my kitchen motto: “Cooking Can Be Dangerous.” . (more…)

If I had known how much was going to be expected of me during the 2010 Olympic Winter Games, I would have trained harder. I’m not competing; I’m worn out just from watching.

With television coverage lasting until late in the evening, it’s affecting my performance the following day. I heard Bob Costas say last night that I don’t have the stamina I showed in watching previous Olympics. (more…)

Arthur Secard is not a household name, but he should be.

We owe this man, this son of a dairy farmer, a debt of gratitude, especially after the week we have all been through. (more…)

Rather than invest in a costly fitness club membership in order to lose weight, this month I started mall walking.

So far I have lost three pounds and $378. And that was only the first week. Today I “hit the wall” and my credit limit at the same time. (more…)

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